


A Cat's Guide to the Art of Espionage and Matchmaking

by ghostlin



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Cats, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlin/pseuds/ghostlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil finds a cat in his apartment. This is unusual, because he doesn't own a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cat's Guide to the Art of Espionage and Matchmaking

**Author's Note:**

> My Secret Santa for Lindsey (requimforthewolves) -- I hope you like it! I had a lot of fun writing it x

The second Neil opens the door, he knows that something is afoot.

Something about his supposedly empty apartment is… off. The window is a little further open than usual (this could have been a drunk Charlie from the other night, but still) and the curtain has been shifted.

Under the windowsill several production flyers lie scattered, like they’ve fallen off the ledge. Or been pushed.

Neil closes the door behind him slowly. “Hello?”

Silence. Shaking his head, he crouches to pick up the flyers, putting them on the coffee table and straightening up.

He stiffens. There’s a faint rustling sound coming from the kitchen. His fingers close around a heavy candlestick, and he begins to advance slowly toward the source of the noise. The rustling is intermittent; it almost sounds like the burglar is going through his cereal box or something.

Neil reaches the doorway, poised to… do something. Probably not attack. He’s not sure he strikes that intimidating a figure, all told.

Then he hears a faint, almost apologetic, meow.

He blinks. A cat is wandering towards him across his kitchen floor. While he’s motionless with surprise, it nudges its head against his leg gently. While this is arguably a pleasant thing to come home to, he doesn’t own a cat.

“Who are you?” Neil mumbles, crouching to stroke its head.

Pleased, the cat arches against his hand and purrs. This doesn’t exactly answer his question, but the collar tag he spots might hold a few more clues. He picks the cat up. It doesn’t seem to mind, placidly settling on his lap when he takes it into the living room and sits down.

“Three Three Four apartment A?” Neil squints at the engraving on the tag, scratching behind the cat’s ears. “This is where you came from?”

The cat sighs contentedly and curls up, resting its head on his knee.

“I don’t think we can stay here,” Neil says apologetically. “Your owner is probably missing you.”

 

-

 

334A turns out to be the apartment across the courtyard from Neil. Once he’s found this out, the next thing to do is find some way of transporting the cat.

He contemplates the problem for a while before deciding on a cardboard box with a blanket in it. Luckily, the cat seems to have no problem with this arrangement, and they both make it down the hallway and up and down two flights of stairs without incident.

As he approaches the door, he idly wonders what he’s going to do if no one answers. Sliding a note through the letterbox saying _I have your cat – apartment 428A_ might come across as a bit weird, like he’s holding it hostage.

But someone does answer. A guy, looking equal parts hesitant and worried. He looks at Neil, blinks, and then glances down at the box he’s holding.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Neil tries a disarming grin, hitching the box up a little. “But -- have you lost a cat?”

Relief floods his neighbour’s expression. “Thank god. I -- I must’ve left the window open and –“

Neil drapes the blanket over his shoulder and holds the box while the guy lifts the cat out. Once set on the floor, it stretches lazily, seemingly unfazed by the whole experience.

“Where’d you find him?”

“My apartment,” Neil says, smiling. “I thought I’d had a break in at first. He came and sat on my lap after a while, but then I figured I should probably return him.”

The guy goes right back to looking worried. “Did he break anything?”

“Um –“ Neil tilts his head, “No, he didn’t. You’re safe.”

They catch each other’s eye; the guy flushes, and after a beat Neil realises he’s still grinning at him.

“Well –“ the guy breaks off, looking at the floor. He’s mumbling now. “He sometimes goes for the cereal.”

“Why?”

“It looks like boxes of cat food, I think.” The guy shakes his head like he’s living with a tiny criminal mastermind and has long since accepted this.

Neil thinks he’s a little bit in love.

He hovers in the doorway for a moment, looking at the cat, now curled up on the sofa. “What’s his name?”

“Uh – Hamlet.” The guy sounds a little embarrassed. Neil smiles at that, too. “What’s yours?”

“What?”

“What’s your name?”

“Oh,” the blush is practically glowing now. Neil looks on, fascinated. “Todd.”

“Todd,” he echoes thoughtfully. “Well. I’ll remember to shut that window in the future.”

“Me too. Definitely.”

“Right.” Neil rocks back and forth on his heels, peering over Todd’s shoulder to address the cat. “Bye Hamlet, it was a pleasure.”He pauses, dropping the theatrics, feeling suddenly hesitant. “Well. See you.”

“Yeah,” Todd says quietly.

Neil’s already walking away when the question barrels towards him in a rush. “What’s your name?”

He turns, smiles. “Neil.”

When he returns to his apartment and wanders into the kitchen to put the kettle on, cornflakes litter the floor, crunching underfoot. The box lies ransacked on its side. Neil crouches to pick it up, shaking his head. Instead of returning it to its proper place, he places it in the cupboard above the sink, in case of any future break-ins.

 

-

 

It’s a week and a half later before it’s warm enough to open the window again. Neil’s just got back from rehearsal and the air outside had been balmy and cool, so he opens the window before settling into the armchair with a book.

As if on cue, there’s a soft thud the minute he turns his back.

Neil frowns, peering over the back of the chair. Hamlet jumps down onto the floor and pads off into the kitchen.

“This isn’t your apartment,” Neil says weakly.

There’s no response. Sighing, he gets up off the armchair and wanders through to the kitchen to locate both Hamlet and the cardboard box, wondering how hard it’ll be to catch him this time.

 

-

 

Hamlet certainly puts up more of a fight.

For some reason, he’s decided that the alcove where Neil keeps cereal is his den, and he’s loathe to be moved from it. Eventually Neil decides he needs backup and grabs his phone off the counter, sending a quick text.

_Cat in kitchen. Cancel your plans and come help me catch it._

After a few minutes he gets a reply.

_???_

Neil sighs. _Just… come over._

While he waits, Neil digs out the blanket from behind the sofa and uses it to pad out the cardboard box a little bit, hoping this will improve his chances of getting Hamlet in there. He’s about to consider adding a few cereal boxes when the doorbell rings.

When he goes to answer it, he’s relieved, albeit confused, to see that Charlie’s brought a cat basket. 

“Why do you even own this?”

“I don’t.” Charlie says, and as if in response to Neil’s look of confusion someone else appears from behind him. “Neil, this is Meeks.”

“Nice to meet you,” Neil says to this new arrival, who smiles at him cheerfully and sidesteps past him into the apartment. “Hang on – _Steven Meeks?_ ”

He mouths this last at Charlie, who responds with a _don’t even think about it_ glare.

Neil grins impishly and ushers Charlie and the cat basket inside. He glances at Steven. “I’ve – uh – heard a lot about you.”

“Oh?” Steven looks at Charlie in surprise.

“So,” Charlie says loudly. “Cat?”

“Yeah, it’s in the kitchen. I’ve tried everything.” Neil explains, following them through the apartment and watching Steven kneel down to inspect his cereal alcove. “Do you have cats?”

“Just the one,” Steven mutters. He reaches behind a cereal box; there’s a disgruntled meow and he withdraws his hand hurriedly.

“Well – you’re the resident cat expert.” Neil says doubtfully. “Computing, linguistics and jazz expert too, so I’m told.”

Steven raises an eyebrow. “Um –“

“What are you gonna do this this cat, anyway?” Charlie’s foot collides with the back of Neil’s ankle, making him wince. “Put it outside?”

“I know the owner,” now it’s Neil’s turn to look embarrassed. “I can drop Hamlet off at his place.”

Ignoring the curious look Charlie’s giving him, he gestures to the alcove. “Can you get him out of there?”

Steven adjusts his glasses thoughtfully. “Have you got any tuna?”

“Yeah, I think so,” after a brief search, Neil extracts a tin of tuna from the cupboard above the sink. He and Charlie watch, involuntarily fascinated, as Steven opens the tin and places it carefully in front of the alcove.

For about a minute, nothing happens. Then Hamlet’s head comes peering out of the darkness. He sniffs delicately at the air, and Neil begins to creep forward. To his confusion, Steven’s hand reaches out to block his progress.

“Wait,” he whispers. “He’ll get suspicious if you move too fast.”

“I think I can outwit a cat,” Neil mutters, feeling a little affronted.

Steven just looks at him a little pityingly. “Everyone thinks that at first. It’s ok.”

He glances at Charlie, who has been watching the proceedings with a grin. He raises his eyebrows playfully at Neil’s frown. 

By some unspoken agreement they all go quiet when more of Hamlet begins to appear. He drops down softly onto the kitchen tiles and pads over to the tuna, but before he reaches his goal Steven scoops him up efficiently and the cardboard box is procured without further ado.

 

-

 

“Oh my god,” Todd’s face is partially obscured by his hands, so Neil’s reassuring smile is mostly lost on him. “I can’t figure out how he’s – I’m so sorry.”

“Luckily, I had a cat expert on call.” Neil says cryptically, leaning against the doorframe.

Steven and Charlie poke their heads into the doorway. Steven waves at Hamlet before the cat disappears behind the sofa.

Charlie waves a modest hand. “It’s all in the psychology. Cats are really –“

“The tuna got him out in the end,” Steven catches Todd’s eye and they share a long-suffering grin.

“I’ll keep a real close eye on him, I swear,” Todd says, still looking a little distressed. “Please don’t call the landlord –“

“It’s not a problem, really.” Neil tilts his head, smiling softly. “Your cat’s welcome any time in my apartment.”

“And so are you,” Charlie adds, winking at Todd before catching Neil’s elbow in his ribs. “What? He is, right?”

“Uh,” Neil rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, you are. Um. Come over – are you free Saturday?”

Todd’s face is glowing. Steven takes this as a cue to leave.

“C’mon,” he nudges Charlie’s shoulder gently. “Let’s go try that new Italian place on the corner.”

“I kinda want tuna,” feeling bold, Charlie darts in to land a quick kiss on Steven’s cheek. “Nice job, by the way.”

Steven’s ears go pink. He ventures a glance round at Neil and Todd, who are still hovering in the doorway. Hamlet is winding through Todd’s legs, and as they watch he trots over to rub against Neil’s calf.

“That cat just knows.” Steven mumbles.

“It’ll still take them like a month to get it together, though.”

“Five bucks on two weeks?”

“You’re on.”


End file.
